The ground leaped up eagerly to meet Sylvie as her bare foot caught at an exposed root. Pain flared through her bruised limbs as she pulled herself weakly to her knees and looked back over her shoulder.
"Run, Sylvie!" cried Teren desperately. Her best friend writhed in the grip of what appeared to be-to a child's eyes-a massive lumbering shadow.
"Not without you!" she sobbed, her tear-streaked face clouded with fresh pain and fear. The shadow-beast was stretching. Bending itself sinuously this way and that, it reached for her slowly, as if assured of catching its prey.
"You must!" Teren shouted again, his face stricken and eyes full of pleading. "Please Sylvie, run before it's too late for you!"
Sylvie felt the approaching nightmare brush her cheek lightly, and she screamed. Jerking away from a touch that was frighteningly gentle, she ran again, hard, back the way they had come. Fresh tears blurred her vision as she imagined she heard Teren cry out again behind her, begging her to come back-to not leave him behind. Shame burned a sharp pain through her heart as she continued to run, not caring where, as long as it was away.
Sylvie sat silently, wide-eyed, after she'd finished relating her tale, her mind still partly immersed in memory. Her companion sat watching thoughtfully across the flames of a small campfire. It was midday and sunny outside her hut, and already the autumn breezes blew strong through the countryside, promising a harsh winter.
Maeve rose briskly from her wooden sitting stool and dropped her own cream-colored shawl over the girl's shoulders. Sylvie touched the body-warmed wool in surprise and realized she was indeed trembling slightly, though she was certain it was not from the chill in the air.
"A hard tale, no matter how often it has been spoken," remarked the old woman, gently breaking the silence and drawing the girl back to the present. "How long has it been since that time, child?"
"Almost seven years," Sylvie replied. "I was nine then, as was Teren. We grew up together, orphans both."
"What is the next clear memory you have of that time?"
"Two days later, maybe three. When I finally woke, I was told by healers that I'd been found unconscious and half-buried in underbrush near the edge of the forest we'd wandered into; Teren was lying beside me. They claimed we were half gone already, sick with exposure. Teren died of the fever before I ever woke up." She spoke the words methodically, as if they were unfamiliar or unnatural to her. "The dreams began almost the next night--always the same, repeating what happened over and over--and have continued to this day."
She looked up at the old woman--Maeve was a healer herself, but according to whispered gossip, also a Seer and magician of sorts--and dared to hope that she might believe. "The others were wrong," she insisted, her eyes narrowed with conviction and emotions that threatened to spill over. "Teren was left behind in that forest…by me…far from where we were found…I cannot explain it, but--"
"You have not been able to convince others of the truth of your tale."
Sylvie shook her head miserably. "And I have not been able to find the way back to that place, despite years of searching. It has simply vanished."
Maeve chuckled grimly. "That is often the way with such specters of nightmare, to appear and stay as they will, vanishing only when they have what it is they seek."
"Nightmare," Sylvie repeated the word bitterly. "It is indeed, but not one forged of sleep and dream mist as you and all the rest in the village would have me believe. I am not a child anymore…" her voice trailed off helplessly with her anger. She knew she sounded petulant and desperate, which indeed she was, but, would no one believe her?
The Seer clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "You misunderstand me completely, child, but it is often so with the young. Sit silent for a time now and allow me to tell you a tale, but know beforehand that I do indeed believe you and can help, if that is what you came here for."
Sylvie sat back and obeyed wordlessly, astonishment and a hint of hope kindled in her eyes like bright flame. Her trembling ceased, the Seer noticed--and approved.
"Nightmares," Maeve began, "Are blessedly insubstantial and short-lived traumas. Fortunate, this is, for they often reflect the fears held deepest inside us, things even we cannot understand at times. However, some beings--very old and terribly twisted by the evil they have experienced--are able to transmute these fears into a reality of their choosing. They can wound and kill as they see fit within the confines of their domain. You, child, and your dearest friend stumbled unwittingly into such a place. In doing so you likely awakened something that, were there any justice, should only have existed in a dream world."
She paused, letting her words sink in as the campfire crackled and snapped in an attempt to fill the silence that stretched between them. When next she spoke, her voice was low, and sad. "But you know, as I do, that this creature does exist, and that it took your friend's life."
Sylvie swallowed and nodded, her eyes once again vacant with the remembered visions. "And the nightmares?" she asked.
"It is possible that whatever took your friend has some influence yet over you, child," the Seer said grimly. "That is why you must confront this creature, and soon, if either of your spirits are to be free again."
Sylvie regarded the older woman hopefully. "But if what you say is true, and Teren's spirit is in the hands of this creature, then it may be possible to bring him back-"
"No, Sylvie," Maeve cut her off firmly. "Teren is gone; you must accept this if you are to succeed. His spirit is held captive by this creature, as is a part of yours. You can set him free, but he can never exist in this world again as he once did. I am sorry, child."
"So am I," Sylvie said quietly. "It was my fault for leaving him behind." She looked up at the Seer again, determination slowly replacing the fear and sadness. "Can you help me find the place I described?"
"I can set your feet upon the path, yes," she replied, "But I cannot accompany you. The place you must go exists only partially in our world; the rest exists only in your mind...in the places where you are most vulnerable."
The old woman drew herself slowly to her feet and gently stamped out the remaining embers of the fire. She reached for Sylvie's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze of reassurance as she brought the girl to her side.
"Come," she said solemnly. "I can show you from here the place you must go. This will be difficult for you, my girl, but trust me just the same."
Sylvie nodded and followed the Seer along the path away from her hut and into the trees. The land angled upward sharply after several minutes, and the trees thinned once more and gave way to a rocky outcropping overlooking the surrounding countryside. Maeve pointed in the direction of the waning sunlight, shielding her eyes against the glare.
"What lies in that direction?"
Sylvie didn't need to look. "The village, and home," she answered, somewhat puzzled.
"And do you know what lies in the opposite direction, child?"
"The river winds away from the village and disappears into the hills. Beyond that-" She stopped, her throat suddenly dry and uncomfortably tight. She shook her head vigorously in denial. "No, that's not possible. It is too far, we never would have wandered so carelessly…"
"Of course you wouldn't," the old woman said soothingly. "But magic is powerful, child, dangerously so. It can deceive and manipulate, especially when in the hands of those with the knowledge to use it. The Briar Wood, in particular, is famous for such feats."
Sylvie gazed in the direction of the forest the Seer spoke of. It was whispered that the wood was corrupted by creatures and magic whose names were better left unspoken. Sylvie took this to mean that no one truly knew what lurked within the dark forest, but there had been no question in her childhood that the forest was forbidden ground. Everything about it was unnatural, from the way the light shunned every tree and shrub to the absence of all the normal forest sounds--an eerie and complete silence hung constantly over the area. The animals would not venture into its depths, and that was enough to convince Sylvie that the wood was a place to be feared.
"Are you certain, my lady?" she asked finally, not bothering to hide her rising fear. "Is this where Teren and I were all those years ago?"
"I can be certain of nothing, Sylvie," the Seer replied truthfully. "But I have heard stories--true ones, mind you, not the gossip of idle tongues--of people caught unawares and lured into the Briar Wood to their deaths. Tell me, if you can, what you remember about the forest you found yourselves in."
"Teren said it was as if the trees had been burned, scorched by fire. It was so dark there, and cold, terribly so. The trees and the shadows melded together to form a long wall--no light could breach it, it was so large. It loomed over us like a giant wave set to crash upon a shore. We were afraid, and decided to turn back. Neither of us wanted to face whatever was behind the wall; we could see nothing, but we knew anyway…we knew it was no place for us, and that we had to get away."
"So you turned back?"
"We did, and lost our way again and again. Every time we turned about, the trees and the shadows were there…waiting. They looked the same, only nearer. The farther we traveled, the closer we came to the wall. After a time we realized there was no other way to go but through."
"It is as I feared then," the old woman confirmed with a sigh. "The wood can appear as it wishes to outsiders, according to what I have heard. Unknowingly, you and Teren ventured close enough to attract the attention of the presence that exists within the Briar. Now I would wager the creature seeks to claim the victim it was denied all those years ago."
"A pity it is going to be disappointed once again." Sylvie eyed the expanse of the Briar that was visible from where they stood and smiled wanly. "I'd best not keep him waiting any longer. I should go."
Maeve regarded the girl in silence for a long moment before replying. Her eyes darkened, and she seemed to be considering her words very carefully. From the pockets of her skirt she withdrew a small iron lantern that fit snugly in the palm of her wrinkled hand. Its miniature shutter was tightly closed.
"Then I have something more for you, Sylvie," she said, holding out the lantern. "I offer you a light in the darkness. It is the only weapon I know of to chase away the shadows you will face. Use it only when you feel you must." She spoke the words formally, as if casting a spell or uttering a prayer--perhaps both.
Sylvie reached out with tender fingers and cradled the lantern protectively against her. She willed herself to relax as Maeve touched her forehead with warm, scratchy fingertips.
"Close your eyes, my brave girl," she commanded. "You will enter the forest my way this time. I'll not leave you at the whim of the Briar again."
Sylvie let out the breath she'd been holding and allowed her eyes to drift shut sleepily. The old woman's breath was warm and gentle on her cheek as she whispered, "Seek out only your lost friend, child, and avoid the deceptions of shadows, past and present. The lines of memory and dream are blurred for you. Half of what you see exists only in your mind--the rest can end your life, and take your spirit. Remember that, and take great care. I will be waiting for you when you return."
The Seer's voice was fading into the distance, and Sylvie was falling, slowly, towards something she could not see. "How will I find my way back?" she asked fearfully, her voice sounding hollow to her ears.
"I found you once, child, long ago. I shall do so again," Maeve's voice whispered back to her fondly and was gone.
When her vision cleared and the world ceased its reckless spinning, Sylvie found herself in the forest once again. With a jolt she realized that she stood in a dream…and a memory. Her feet found the unseen path, and she began walking. In her mind she was a child again, Teren walking unsteadily by her side over the uneven ground.
"Don't worry, Syl, the forest was most likely burned. That's why the trees are the way they are…black like…"
Sylvie shuddered and pushed the memory away, staring at the trees around her with older eyes. There was nothing natural about them, the way the darkness clung like moss to the bark, the leaves, and the air about her, obscuring her vision beyond a few feet. She held the lantern carefully at her side, but did not dare use it yet as she began walking resolutely past the sinister landscape. The trees stirred in a sudden breeze that whispered faint words of welcome in sibilant hisses as she passed. Sylvie reached instinctively for Teren's hand; when she did not feel its familiar warmth, the anger burning inside her stirred, and her stride quickened to match it.
She had been walking for what seemed like hours when she began to hear the voice. It was low and deceptively gentle, unmistakably meant for a child's ears…hers.
"I have missed you so, little faint heart," the voice whispered mockingly. "Why did you wait so long to come back to us? We have been so lonely here."
Sylvie's heart thudded painfully in her chest, and she froze where she stood, determined not to give in to the urge to bolt.
"Then hide no more, invisible one," she challenged the empty air defiantly. "Show yourself to me."
"No no no, little faint heart." The voice echoed from behind her this time. "Promise first. Promise this time not to flee. I would hate to have to chase you, little one."
Sylvie choked back a sob and resisted the urge to turn and do just that as a faint breeze danced over her bare neck. Still she did not turn, certain that the voice and its owner lay in front of her, not behind.
"I will not run this time," she said aloud to the air. "You know what it is I've come for."
"Indeed…I can give you what you want, my girl. I always could." The voice was low and quick with excitement as the shadows before her parted like a curtain, revealing a small clearing. Sylvie gasped and raised a hand to her mouth as a blast of cold, fetid air blew around her. Blinking back tears, she stared at the massive object that dominated the clearing.
The trunk of the tree was easily as wide as she was tall, and the gnarled branches had grown so large and heavy that they drooped, draping themselves languidly over each other and the surrounding trees--hanging teasingly just above the ground, the pose brought to mind a twisted and bloated willow tree. The same impenetrable blackness clung to it, but the shadows here were different, horribly so, Sylvie realized. They moved and writhed like living things with a will of their own. They shifted and separated themselves from the trunk briefly, revealing a small figure, a barely visible speck of pale flesh against the darkness. The child turned to look at Sylvie directly, and this time she did cry out softly.
"Teren," she whispered, not quite daring to believe. He was white and gaunt in the face, with dark blotches beneath hollow eyes. He still wore the tattered, homespun clothing she'd seen him in that day. She realized he was everything she remembered, but the light in his eyes was gone, and he regarded her almost impassively.
Stepping forward, Sylvie reached her hand out, stopping just shy of the nearest branch.
"I'm here, Teren," she said gently. "I'm here to take you home."
Instead of replying, the boy shrank back away from her hand, clutching the tree round the trunk. The shadows encircled him protectively, and Sylvie felt hot tears course down her cheeks.
"What have you done to him?" Sylvie yelled her question at the tree itself, her body trembling with suppressed anger and grief.
"I have cared for him these seven years," the voice replied smoothly in her ear. "I stayed with him, protected him…as others did not."
"No!" Sylvie cried. "You took him from me. Had I stayed, you would have killed me as well." She looked at Teren desperately, willing him with her eyes to remember. "Please Teren, don't listen to him. Come away from there. I came back to take you with me this time. Please come with me."
Teren listened, unmoving, as she pleaded. Slowly, he shook his blond head from side to side and continued to hold onto the tree.
"Can you truly blame him?" the voice chided her. "He is safe here, and always will be. You can have the same, little faint heart. I told you I could give you what you wanted. I did not lie."
The shadows parted again, and another figure stepped up beside Teren on the other side of the tree. Sylvie's eyes widened as she recognized a younger and more fearful version of herself--a mirror of how she must have looked so long ago.
"Come, child," said the voice soothingly. "I can end your suffering and your nightmares--make you whole again. That is what you truly seek, is it not--to be free?"
Free. Sylvie jerked away abruptly from the shadows that had been slowly crawling toward her. She fumbled frantically with the shutter of the lantern the Seer had gifted her with.
"Beware, little one!" the voice snarled at her, its breath harsh and foul on her neck as it echoed in front of and behind her. "Beware, and consider carefully before you decide. You shall once again seal your friend's fate with your actions."
"Not this time," Sylvie growled.
The shutter snapped open and the air was suddenly and completely flooded with white-hot light. The shadows recoiled with screams of agony as the brightness tore them apart. She watched in horrid fascination as the twin images of herself and Teren darkened and split, dissolving into nothingness along with the tree. She shielded her eyes against the growing brightness, half fearing that she too would be consumed.
"Run, Sylvie!"
This voice and its words--familiar as home to Sylvie--was all the urging that she needed. Dropping the lantern, Sylvie turned and fled the clearing, running hard towards the voice. She ran until she was out of breath and falling again, this time into light.
When she awoke, it was as if from a long and peaceful sleep. She was lying on the ground, her cheek pressed against tickling grasses. And she was warm, comfortably so; it was not at all like before, when she'd awoken cold and sick with fever.
Opening her eyes, Sylvie saw that she lay on a carpet of green, surrounded by dense trees--true ones, free of the clinging darkness, shadows chased away by sunlight. A small, warm body cradled itself close against her chest.
Sylvie swallowed the lump that formed in her throat as Teren raised his head and regarded her, a smile lighting up his freckled, nine-year-old face.
"Feels so nice, Syl," he murmured sleepily. "Warm. It was always cold in the dark. I grew so weary of it."
"I know, Teren," she replied softly, releasing a shuddering sigh of relief. "I did too."
"Don't cry, Syl," Teren soothed, reaching out to catch the tears that spilled down her face. "We'll be all right now, I'm sure of it."
He pressed his face against her neck; Sylvie pulled him close and breathed in the familiar scent and feel of him, committing it to memory as they lay quietly in the grass.
"I'll have to go soon, Sylvie," Teren whispered after a time. "I wish I could stay, but--"
"It's okay, Teren. I understand." Sylvie closed her eyes. "We'll rest now…both of us…without fear." She smiled softly as she realized that Maeve would be waiting for her when she awoke, and she would not be alone again.
They lay together, wrapped in the sunlight and each other, and fell into deep and dreamless sleep.
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